Hot Mess
by ReginaCaelum
Summary: Wally knows something's up when he finds Artemis in the kitchen staring hard at a notebook with a spoon in her hand and a container of Nutella sitting nearby. Finals fluff, Waltermis.


**Diclaimer: disclaimed**

This is what you get while I _should _be studying for finals -.-

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><p>Wally knows something's up when he finds Artemis in the kitchen staring hard at a notebook with a spoon in her hand and a container of Nutella sitting nearby. Her hair's not in a ponytail, for once, and probably not brushed from the looks of it. Perched on a stool at the island, her hunched back shows some of her back from underneath her white tank top. The smooth skin is enough to make him swallow, and that's before he sees her long, bare legs tangled around the stool, not to mention the chocolate smeared on her lips. Over all, the archer looks studious and intense and more than kind of hot—<p>

She sniffles and Wally freezes, expecting to get a full-on bitching for gawking, but she doesn't look up. Instead she sniffs again—a delicate, meek sound that doesn't suit her at all—and rubs her face with the heel of her hand. With a shaky sight the blond puts her head in her arms.

"Need some help?" The words are out of his mouth before he realizes it and he winces internally but walks into the kitchen.

Artemis flinches slightly but ignores him mostly and he realizes how frazzled she must be to not notice him staring at her. "Go away, Bay-Watch," she orders, voice muffled by her arms. "I'm not in the mood."

But in typical Wally fashion, he ignores her. "Nutella, Arty?" he asks cheerfully. "Never seen you indulge before." Indeed, the blonde only seemed to eat M'gann's cookies to appease the Martian, and the only snacks she ever did eat were healthy ones, like vegetables and power bats. "Soooo," he drawls obnoxiously, "Whatcha studying?" She remains morosely silent. "English?" he hedges, perturbed by her lack of response. "History? Math? A language? Science?" Now miffed, he declares, "Come on, don't be such a—"

"I don't need your help," she snarls suddenly, head raised defiantly. He blinks in surprise, noticing her grey eyes are ever-so-slightly bloodshot. As if she realizes what he sees, she drops her gaze back to the textbook. "I'll figure this out—I'll do it myself," she mutters, but the words are hollow, like a mantra said too many times.

Then her book vanishes. Startled, she looks up to see her teammate leaning against the counter, thumbing through the pages. "Oh, chemistry," he muses. "How I've missed you."

Forcing herself to take a long, deep breath that does absolutely nothing to quell her anger, Artemis forces out intelligible words. "I am not going to ask again, Wallace. Give. Me. The. Book. _Now." _

Green eyes meet hers briefly, a thoughtful look on his face that makes her wary. With one smooth movement he appears at her side (ignoring how lovely she looks angry), picks her up in his arms (paying no mind to how much skin is showing in her tank top and shorts) and runs to the training room (definitely not cherishing each moment he holds her).

There, he dumps her unceremoniously on the ground. Almost immediately, she pushes her hair out of her face and glares venomously. "What the _hell_, Wally?" she hisses, getting to her feet.

He throws a punch at her, and she darts to the side instinctively. Quickly balancing herself, she ducks under his next punch, planning to go for his solar plexus, but too quickly for her eyes to follow he jabs the pressure point on her neck and she twitches, stunned long enough for the speedster to push her to the floor and pin her arms behind her back in a move Black Canary had taught them.

Tossing her hair out of her face, she demands, "What are you doing?" She's acutely aware of how close his mouth is to her neck and the feeling of her legs around hers.

What's the formula for phosphate?" he asks, and it's only because of her training that she doesn't shiver.

"PO4-3!" she replies automatically, momentarily surprised that she remembers.

"And…?" he presses.

She narrows her eyes in concentration. "It's a, uh, salt of phosphoric acid?"

"The formula for which is…?"

"H3PO4!" The weight on her back disappears and as she scrambles to her feet she hears him say, "How do you find the molar mass of a molecule?" as he runs toward her.

Recognizing the tactic from training, she turns quick enough to kick his legs out from under him before he can grab at her gain. He doesn't look fazed, putting his hands behind his head nonchalantly. "Well?"

Scowling, she puts her foot on his chest and recites, "Find the molar mass of the elements by adding the weights together, then divide by Avogadro's number." Before he asks, she adds, "Which is 6.02 ∙ 1023."

"Not bad." Without warning, he grabs her ankle, moving to fold her leg, but before he can get a good grip she kicks off his chest. When she lands in a halo of golden hair, she puts herself in a ready position once more. "What are the trends in the periodic table?" he demands, rushing forward once more.

And so it continues. Wally attacks, using his speed to put Artemis on the defensive while he bombards her with questions. She answers every one, not needing her mind to fight after all the years of training to fight on instinct. Neither fight at their hardest, but he puts enough pressure on her to make her react.

After nearly two hours, they lay side by side, slowing their breathing as he continues questioning her. Her pajamas are sticky with sweat and she's using her hair with a pillow, the same why he's using his shirt.

"So," he finally ventures. "You going to explain why you were so upset?"

She sighs in resignation. "If I don't bring my chem. grade up with this final, I fail the class and use the scholarship, and I—my mom doesn't want me to go back to my old school." A contemplative pause. "It's the only class I really have to study for, but I just can't find time between…everything."

Instead of pushing her, Wally nods in understanding. "You know all the stuff, but you were just blocking yourself by stressing."

"Yeah." They fall into silence again, and Artemis can feel her eyelids getting heavier with each blink. It's past eleven, and though Gothamites don't sleep as much as other people, it's been a long few weeks. Months, really. "I need to go shower," she finally admits, and gets to her feet. Standing over him, she asks, "Need a hand?"

He grins and takes hers. Pulling him up, she overestimates her strength and somehow, their faces end up inches apart. Both teenagers freeze, noses brushing and eyes locked. He can see the delicate slant of her eyes, and she can count every freckle on his face. A moment crawls by, then he barely leans forward, breath ghosting over her cheeks and brushes his lips over hers. Blonde eyelashes flutter in surprise, but she doesn't pull away. His lips are warm and she smells like spearmint and for a moment, everything is perfect.

The kiss is over as soon as it begins. He separates himself with reluctance, smirking at her dumbfounded expression. "For good luck," he explains, adding, "Not that you'll need it." If she notices his flushed cheeks as he winks and disappears in a rush of wind, she can't say anything, with her parted lips and light blush. But both hearts are still hammering and their lips still tingling.

The next day, he receives a text message reading, "That tutoring of yours got me an A, Bay-Watch. Let's do it again.

And thanks."

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><p>Hopefully this isn't all I'll put up before Christmas, but if it is, Happy Holidays!<p>

Leave a review to help me get through finals!


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